


Simba's Finest Fling

by VickyVoltaire



Category: Jungle Book (1967), The Lion King (1994)
Genre: AU, Babysitting, Cool Uncle, Disney Multiverse, F/M, Family, Genderbending, Genderswap, Human AU, Humor, femme!Scar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVoltaire/pseuds/VickyVoltaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scar and Simba go together like cheesecake and tabasco sauce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simba's Finest Fling

Title: Simba's finest fling

Synopsis: Scar plays babysitter to Simba.

Author's note: This is dedicated to Robin Mask

This will be mainly LK but there will be um, surprises. Please enjoy!-VV

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The present circumstances could not have been more taxing. When Mufasa had told her to speculate after telling her that he needed her to do something especially important for him, she sternly told him that she despised guessing games.

Mufasa and Sarabi had been invited to a special conference that dealt with company management and would not return for several weeks. Business was to be shared equally between Zazu and Scar. Though he would never admit it, Zazu was terrified of Scar and it was only when his true supervisor was around did he feel comfortable in correcting the 'King's' sister's mistakes. Dealing with her was like trying to corral a dangerous snake. When Mufasa first told him of the arrangements, Zazu told him that he would rather jump into a pit of fire and be sprung up into the air than have to deal with her personally. The 'King' had promised him a raise and a promotion if he did as he was asked. Zazu took the job in stride but slowly let Scar take the reins. In meetings, it was Zazu who would designate the morning reports but it was Scar who would induce ideas into the meetings in a subtle way. Anyone who wanted to keep their jobs knew that they would do as she would ask, or order, rather. It was hard to argue with someone who had Master's degrees in business, finance and Latin. Her inferiors often traded barbs amongst themselves that she was gifted in the arts of arrogance, rudeness and pride. Though Zazu was well educated, it was hard to take him seriously because on occasions he would fumble and was a bit clumsy. Despite of his strict upper class British breeding, he was still a funny looking man with a large nose and carried himself with an air of pomp. It was a rather hilarious sight.

No one would dare laugh at Scar. At least not openly. The employees had to teeter between a man who took his job perhaps a little too seriously and thought himself an extended member of the royal family and someone who would not hesitate to look down on you and make it feel as if you were getting burnt with hot coals.

Though Scar had gotten used to being on the wayside, she was never one to pass up an opportunity. She may not have possessed her brother's ability to command a wide kingdom, but she knew that her strengths lay in the private realm. Mufasa may have been the face of the company and was the one that gave the big speeches at the charity galas, but it was Scar who had a hand in the machinations behind the curtain. The employees at the company noted at what an 'unusual' relationship the "King" had with his sister. If they brought up a concern, he said that he would deal with her. Even if he had upheld his promise, the employees would still feel uneasy. At best, Mufasa would offer benign words of comfort. At worst, the problem would be ignored. After all, he had so many responsibilities. One thing was for certain: The 'King's' son, Simba doted on his aunt and she in turn provided for the boy. The same individual who could cut your throat was acting in a maternal and protective fashion. It was like seeing a lioness carry a tiny cub.

Because of the extended stay of the trip, their precious son Simba could not go. That was when Mufasa entrusted Scar to look after the baby. It would be a pattern every time he needed a favor.

Mufasa was hesitant at first because he worried about Scar's manner of babysitting and what she would entail but Sarabi had convinced him to let Simba stay with his aunt on account that Zazu would be responsible for running the staff meetings in their absence. Rafiki was also out of the question because he would probably scare the baby with his colorful assortment of masks and charms. Her friends were also busy. The deal breaker of course was Simba himself. She noticed how quiet and calm he would be whenever he was close to Scar. Although she would have preferred that Scar would do something to about her nails, she was their best option

Scar agreed only under the pretext that it would give her access to the boy, then perhaps she could mold him, slowly, intimately and surely.

He was the Prince. The crown jewel of the kingdom and the apple of his parent's eyes. He lived in a glass bubble. He was so innocent and uncorrupt. As soon as he was born, Simba was granted deified status. It was a slap in the face to someone who had counted on being next in line for the family fortune. Although her name designated her a lump sum, Simba's share was significantly larger. His fame did not stop within the family compound. It extended into the gossip blogs and media outlets. From his first word, to his first steps, everyone knew.

From the day he was born, he had his every whim catered to. Though he had babysitters and relatives who would take care of his most basic needs, it was his aunt whom he would become dependent on. It was she who Simba wanted to stay with whenever he couldn't and didn't want to accompany his parents on these long engagements.

She offered to look after him but it was not because of any genuine attachment to him. She wanted to get him dependent on her before his little brain could comprehend the complexity of her scheming. The first step was familiarity. Mufasa had entrusted her to raise him which was a good sign to her because that meant that the brute had entrusted her with his most precious cargo. She now held a delicate piece in this game.

It started when he was an infant.

That meant that she had to tolerate the crying, the three AM feeds, doctor visits, school functions and other sorts of responsibilities that she had to take on if his parents were not available.

From an early age, she taught him that she was in charge and he quietly accepted. It was difficult at first but eventually she got the little 'prince' wrapped around her finger. He had to be ripened. She would groom him in her own way.

Scar could never say that she loved the baby. Love was a foreign concept to her as quantum physics was to a dog. That was not to say that she was incapable of 'showing' love. She was gifted in the art of acting. Manipulation was natural to her and the performance of looking like she cared for her new nephew was just another role she had to play in the complex plan. It was all part of a grand design.

And so far, the plan looked like it was working.

Sarabi had fed Simba naturally so it took awhile for the baby to accept being fed from the bottle. Sarabi had given Scar a set of instructions as per Rafiki's orders on how to feed the baby with a special formula. Whenever she tried to feed him, Simba would push away and cry, preferring to nurse.

He always wore yellow. He looked like a cute little duckling except whenever he wailed because he wanted to be held or because he had gas. Eventually, Scar got the rhythm of her nephew and eventually got him to feed from the bottle. Still, Simba would occasionally tug at the straps of her gown or her robe in attempts to feed but she warded him off.

"Stubborn little hairball" she sighed.

He was always fussy and energetic. Sometimes she would fall asleep whenever he was next to her. Other times, she would wake up and find him trying to stand up, supporting himself on her side by using his chubby little arms. Most often she would find him toying with her hair, like a rambunctious lion cub toying with a mane.

Simba had grown from being a chubby baby to an active little boy.

Eventually, her nephew had begun to see her as a second mother. Although he had been taught proper manners and etiquette, he was still a spoiled little boy and that meant that Scar had to figure out ways to get around the boy's demands without looking as if she was 'punishing' him.

It was constant. It was incessant. Instead of changing his dirty nappies, Scar was now responsible for raising the boy 'properly'. Now, all she had to do was slowly and circuitously wean Simba off of his father's philosophies. Not so boldly so that his father would suspect anything but not indirectly in that the boy would miss the point. When he stopped crying and he would begin to 'listen' he soaked up information like a sponge.

He also began to ask a lot of questions.

"Can we go there?"

"Can we do this?"

"Can I have that?"

He also had a habit of asking very personal questions.

"What happened to your eye?"

Fortunately, Mufasa was in front and he promptly corrected Simba. Whether or not he told his son the true story about how she got that mark did not sully her in any degree. She was a 'marked' woman. What was important now was that Simba was attached to her. Simba told her that he had heard that it was an accident and he apologized for being so nosy. The look of shame in his eyes when he admitted it was more soothing than the finest tea.

It was grating that he did not come with a set of instructions or at the very least an off and on button for he could talk the ear off an elephant.

Mufasa had enrolled him at St. Aloysius School for the Gifted. He was not a complete dunce because he had earned decent marks in math and the sciences. He also enjoyed sports but he was never good as his best friend Nala. She was better at him at wrestling and she took her etiquette classes seriously. Sarabi always complained that her son had better spruce up on his matters and that she was wasting money on Mistress Potts, a portly mature woman who taught home economics and etiquette. Nala was gifted in the arts, languages, and history. She always asked questions. Simba never understood why his parents were so fascinated by her. He always took note how his mother and Nala's would speak and look at them as if they were sharing a rather juicy secret. He had a feeling that it had something to do with his poorer marks in gym and preferred to distract himself with his hand held devices and computer games.

He was also an avid bug collector much to the chagrin of his aunt who would recoiled at several instances when she cleaned up his soiled nappies and found remnants of what used to be a various assortment of insects. She never told Mufasa of course because she did not want him to think she was not paying attention to his precious son. Eventually she overheard that he and Sarabi found out about Simba's habit over a family dinner one time.

Mufasa saw it so that that particular and disgusting habit became something 'constructive'. His father had planned for him to study business once he came of a certain age. He had already made connections. Simba of course saw these plans and responsibilities as a hindrance to all the expensive 'toys' that he could be playing with. Nonetheless, he honored and loved his parents and strived to please them. He was already a miniature of his father, copying him any way that he could. The man was practically a god to him. Simba fawned over him the way a cub marvels at meeting his giant of a father for the first time.

Perhaps she could not change her brother's mind in regards to business ethics, but that was not limited to his son who was impressionable and took her words to heart. He was like a ripe fruit ready for the picking.

Most of the time at least.

Scar indulged Simba. Not out of love but out of trust.

She would let him have that extra piece of candy if it meant keeping him quiet. The sugar rush would eventually catch up to him to which then he would then crash and burn out and soon he would be napping. If he wanted to watch a horror film that was not age appropriate she would sneer and let him. She then noticed that not long after, he could enter her bed chambers and she would find him under the covers crawling towards her and then lie next to her, shaking and mumbling. After a small pep talk, they would watch a play on Hamlet or Coriolanus. The boy was not going to be a complete dunce under her care. She did not want him to know more than he needed to but he was not going to be a complete idiot.

Animated television was never allowed at her home. It was trash TV on par with those horrid chat shows.

She particularly _despised_ the one cartoon with the talking sponge and the starfish who wore swimming trunks.

From Mufasa, he inherited his sunny disposition and his uncanny ability to annoy her.

Simba wondered into her study. He never understood why she always kept the drapes spread even if it was past noon. It looked spooky but he never said it out loud. He knew that she had frequent headaches and had a sensitive immune system but this was too much.

"I'm bored," he whined. He leaned against the wall.

"Only boring people are boring," Scar said dispassionately. She kept typing along the keyboard and sipped her peppermint tea nonchalantly.

"I wanna do something!" The boy replied.

"Have you polished the floors?" Scar huffed in a bitter tone.

"No," Simba said despondently.

"Have you raked the leaves on the veranda? Your father said that he did not want you engaging in idle time so much, Simba."

"No."

"Have you organized the closet quarters on the second floor?" she asked.

"No"

"Then get to it!" Scar hissed.

"Oh, why? You have so many pairs of shoes and clothes. Why do you have so many?" Simba queried.

"All the better to mesmerize the masses with, my dear boy," Scar said to her nephew before turning back her attention to the laptop on her right. She began to type quickly. After a few moments, Simba pulled out a game device. The sounds of what seemed like ray guns, glass breaking along with other annoying auditory sensations coming out of the digital instrument distracted Scar.

She could tolerate his insistence for peanut butter and whipped cream sandwiches for dinner.

She could endure his habit of mispronouncing lines that he had to do for school functions, some of which included her favorite performances.

She could handle his obsession with the latest toy gadget but the sound coming out his device was something that grated her.

"Simba, I am in a very important meeting right now. Do you mind?" Scar hissed. She turned back to the screen. She kept the video chat away from her nephew. She began to type furiously.

-Hey, what's goin on over there?-ClownManHaha

-Be quiet, you fool. I am babysitting-

-Well, no wonder you are stressed-HellishHarlequin

-Has Ed gotten the explosives, yet?-

-He's working on them. And he's working up on something REALLY good-HellishHarlquin

ClownMan and HellishHarlequin were the codenames of her two must trusted henchmen. They were expert hackers and for the right price, they could also hack a man into small pieces. Harlequin was a young woman in either her late teens and was the leader of her group. She always wore her hair in spikes, had chains on her wrists and neck. She had something of a 'dirty punk' look to her and she never left her home without her Doc Martens. She and her two 'brothers' always wore greys and blacks so as to blend in with the urban setting. They were careful not to get caught around anywhere where their 'boss's brother could see them. Scar had given them a specific set of instructions as to when to appear and if possible provided for them the appropriate gear so that they could carry out their heists.

-I am glad to hear that-

-So, whacha get us to eat?-ClownManHaha

-Is that all you think about? Will you knock it off?!-HellishHarlequin

-Hey, I have been starving all day! I could eat a wildebeest!-ClownManHaha

ClownMan was a young man who had a penchant for shirts with skulls and bones. He was by no means bulky but he was the perfect 'muscle'.

Scar sneered dimly before replying. Although Banzai had a one track mind, he was an expert pick pocket and along with Shenzi could bully a victim into giving up their grandmother's most precious heirloom with taunts and their weapons. The three of them were like a pack of wild dogs who would terrorize anyone who would come into contact with them.

-After your last failure I don't believe you deserve this but your bounty is by the bridge on Fourth and Market. I have left two hundred grand and the roast beef special from the high end deli. You must not be seen-

"Simba, what did I say?" Scar hissed bitterly.

"I wanna stay here with you." Simba said as he tapped the buttons of his game console quickly.

"I intend to be here for awhile and if you don't mind-"

"Can't we go somewhere and do something?" Simba pestered her.

He was spoiled and bratty. Scar was in no position to punish her nephew. For one thing, it would destroy that delicate bridge of trust that she had built in him since that day when she met him at his christening. In addition to that, discipline was not her job but Mufasa and Sarabi's and since they were not available it was up to her. She knew that harsh discipline was out of the question. She still remembers that rather awkward day when Simba walked in on her while she was having a 'private' meeting with Shere Khan. She screamed at him when she caught him snooping. He wanted a glass of water. He was so tired that he forgot her rule of knocking.

From the way Simba described it, he asked if they were playing some sort of game. It looked like they were having fun even if it looked like she was losing. He knew that his aunt disliked any heavy sports and that she preferred watching croquet to rugby or football but Simba could not understand why his she would despise something 'low' and 'dirty' when she engaged it in herself. Grown-ups were weird like that. He had never seen her so angry either. Before he could greet his favorite 'uncle' she shooed him out.

Oh rather, she hissed at him. He could hear obscenities as he ran down the hall, trying to make sense of what he saw.

"You know that you cannot go anywhere. Your father punished you because of that mess in that dirty neighborhood. I told you not to go there!" She exclaimed.

"Awww, but I promise that I won't do it again! I didn't know that THAT would happen!" Simba replied, pausing his game.

"I told you not to go there, didn't I?" Scar replied darkly.

"Yeah, but-"

She ignored him. She began to run through some files. Simba decided to distract himself by observing and touching the objects on her desk. Simba thought that his aunt had a very peculiar taste in things. She was always telling him not to touch this or that. She was meticulous whenever she gave him juice or fed him. He once spilled a vial of grape juice and it poured on the white floor. Scar kept an eye on her curious nephew.

"Simba, don't you have homework to do?" she asked.

"I did but I already finished," Simba replied promptly.

"Have you checked it?" Scar asked as she added more honey to her tea.

"No."

"Then how do you know if your answers are correct?" Scar queried.

"I don't know, I just do. Besides, when Zazu helps me with homework he always turns it into this big lecture. I just always say that I am done."

"Like you do with chores?"

Simba grabbed his yellow shirt and smiled sheepishly.

Scar sighed.

She could check her emails later. She could make plans with her extra pair of six eyes at another day. She could always respond to Zira's desperate IM in a week or two. Right now, her focus was on her nephew. If she sent him away to another part of her apartment complex, he would find trouble. He could start a fire on her stove, make a mess in her meticulously arranged closet, a whole host of things. She snapped down her casebook.

Let him win this little battle.

Now that she noticed, it was still early enough for a lunch.

"Very well then. Would you like some takeaway?" She crossed her legs and looked curiously at the boy.

"Um, yeah sure. Where are we going? Lumiere's Kitchen? The one with all those yummy desserts and the singing choir? I haven't had that in a while. Not since mom's birthday" Simba beamed.

Scar sneered bitterly.

"No."

"Tiana's Palace? I could go for something a little spicy…." Simba smiled.

"No!" Scar hated those kind of eateries. Nosy staff, saccharine desserts and that family friendly atmosphere were things that were out of her comfort zone. She preferred a more private area when it came to eating her meals. She was picky but truth be told, her palate would not turn down a smoked ham at this very moment.

"We are going to the Garden," she declared.

Simba looked up.

"I don't like going there!" He whined. He finally stopped paying attention to his game.

"You said you wanted to go out. You said you were hungry." Scar said sharply.

"I know, I know but still. Everyone looks at me funny there." Ever since as far as he could remember, his aunt had had an unusual assortment of 'friends', if one could call them that. Though she was on friendly terms with these people, Simba had a bad feeling about 'The Garden'. One of the reasons he hated going there was because the lady who ran the pearl shop would give him painful cheek pinches. They were not as bad as his grandmother's.

"That's because your name precedes you, love." Scar sighed.

"I don't like the old lady that runs the bakery. She's mean. Plus that pie was gross." Simba whined.

"Don't speak about Hilda in such a manner. That is not polite. She used to be a very famous actress, you know," Scar said with a sharp tone.

Scar was close friends with the owner of Grimmhilde's Bakery and Bistro. She was the first to set up shop at what would later be colloquially known as 'The Garden'. A lot of them knew one another from their college days when they were studying business. Well-traveled, educated, and with a gift for greed, it did not come as much of a surprise when they more or less pursued the same goals. Quite a few were sorority sisters. The competition did not end at the culmination ceremony it seemed.

It was particularly divisive between Grimmhilde, who preferred to be known as Hilda and her younger archnemesis who ran the most fashionable boutique at the promenade.

"Really?"

Scar nodded.

"Then how come she looks so old and wrinkly?"

"If she overheard you saying that and gave you a poisoned apple tart, I would not stop her."

His aunt had an uncanny ability to make you regret your poor word choices.

"Sorry," Simba replied quietly.

"Her turnovers are very famous. She has won awards for her recipes. I would not dismiss someone like that so quickly." The dusk skinned woman mused as she prepared her hair for an outing. She was vain, but she was beautiful. He could not help but admire how she looked at herself in the mirror, how she meticulously she took care of herself from the number of strokes she would apply on her eyelashes to the right shade of lipstick down to the she walked whenever they went out. It was as if she was walking on water. Though his dad had warned him about his aunt and her 'ideas', Simba was in love with her. She showed him how to conduct himself when he practiced his musical instruments to how to stand when making a speech. She tried to teach him how to eat properly with a fork but Simba was more interested in playing with his pasta than making a good impression. She let him eat ice cream late at night but Simba partially suspected it was because she was too tired to talk to him.

"I think she gave me one that was poisoned." Simba observed.

"What would make you say such a thing?" Scar asked sweetly.

"Cuz I got really sick that day. I threw up a lot, remember?"

"Simba, you could not hold down your meal because of those two extra servings of cheese covered chips of which you insisted on having!"

That was embarrassingly true but before he could explain himself, she cut him off-

"If you had managed to portion out your meals, you would not have gotten sick all over the pavement and embarrassed me." Scar replied darkly.

Simba self-reflected, admittedly ashamed.

The Earthly Delights Gardens was a high end, upscale shopping center in the northern corner of the city limits. Only those with connections to the film industry or if you had your own brand could set foot within the vine covered gates of the shopping district.

It was like a scene out of a Gruau art piece: A fountain was in the middle. It was made out of polished dark marble and the middle of it had a dragon battling a prince atop a high mountain. From its mouth poured forth the water which was aiming at the hero. The marble was a deep sea green color which enhanced the sea tone. The outdoor mall had various walkways and high steep buildings that made the parts between the narrow walkways look like they were in the middle of a gorge. He had never seen anything so high except his father's building which shone like a beacon of the city. The only one he knew that rivaled his father in terms of building size was Shere Khan.

The pavement was cleaned three times a day and the sidewalks had gas lamps on them, giving the shopping experience a feel of old world Paris. If one was dressed in simple clothes such as jeans and a simple cardigan, you were assumed to be an intern for one of the studios and that you were here to pick up an order for an actor. Otherwise, you were ignored like a dead leaf falling in the wind. Irrelevant.

The Gardens were set up partially like a bazaar but they also had that modern day luxury feel. The boutiques boasted the latest trends for those who had a pulse on the latest styles. There were also emporiums catered to those who preferred a more classic and subtle look like his aunt did. She was the type who preferred the look of a gently worn handbag over a flashy logo. It was too nouveau riche and tasteless. It was a fashion capital. It was clear to anyone that only Platinum Card members could walk in and out with a bag from Madame Medusa's Boutique.

The owner was an eccentric woman with flaming red hair. She was obviously past her prime and never married and sought solace in her collection of rings, brooches, and charms. Royals and politicians would set up special appointments just to step foot in her shop for she had items that not even other high end competitors at common outlets had. Her famed 'Devil's Eye' was the crown jewel of her collection. It was not for sale no matter how much others bidded for it, and generously they did so. She kept her diamond for vanity purposes. Even the man she had supposedly had under her thumb had gotten tired of her tyrannical ways.

Simba learned a long time ago to never question why she had that crazed look in her eye.

"Don't stare, it's impolite." Scar replied dimly.

Madame M's shoppe stood directly across from her main competitor's, a woman who specialized in selling pearls. The owner was a woman who invested in various ports and shipyards along the seaboard. She made a special deal with the fishermen. From Osaka, Japan to ports along the English coast, she had the lion's share of shells that housed her precious gemstones. Her belief was that pearls were more classy and elegant. Most importantly, they never went out of style. One never knew if the color of red garnet would be in season or if aquamarine would be the dominant stone. Pearls, like diamonds, were forever. Her boutique lobby was decorated with paintings of various courtly figures donning pearls from the Duchess of Savoy to the Marquesa de Alorna. Not surprisingly, the feel of this outlet had a maritime theme to it. How fitting.

"I've got a deal just for you! The Princess of Sweden's wedding necklace for this much. You can't beat that at Tiffany's!" Simba found himself in the shadow of a rather portly woman who seemed to have put on too much eye shadow and probably had a little one too many fried prawns.

"Not today. I'm with my nephew," the slender woman replied.

'The Unfortunate Soul' was aptly named. The owner and manager had a penchant for the mythical sirens of ocean lore. It was rumored amongst those who frequented the outlet that if they defaulted on their payment plans that they would have to pay dearly. The store owner sashayed back into her shop. Simba pulled his aunt's hand closer. No wonder he hated coming here. She wore a dress that was long and parted at the end. The broken shreds looked like giant tentacles.

His aunt stopped momentarily to look at the counter that sold make up. Oh great. He was so hungry he could eat a whole zebra!

The woman on the counter had a lavender toned pompadour and she never went anywhere without her French poodle. Although she wasn't as scary as the other two ladies, there was something about the way she carried herself that made Simba a little uneasy. She must have been okay if his aunt was on a first name basis with her.

"We have the new Lancome scent 'Eu de femme'! I think it would be divine on you!" The model thin sales woman exclaimed. She sold a lot of things in her store: perfumes, cosmetics, powder puffs, and eyeliner. Simba saw a woman apply some of the powder onto her face. She puffed a little too strongly which in turn made Simba sneeze.

He saw his aunt and the woman with poodle hair look down at him like he had committed capital murder.

"Is that who I think it is?"

Simba could not believe how long her eyelashes were. Her eyelashes were long, she wore too much perfume and she looked like she needed to eat a croissant or two.

"Yes, I am babysitting this weekend I am afraid."

"He's so small and so handsome!" The purple haired woman beamed.

"He takes after his father, unfortunately" Scar sneered.

"Oh, I can definitely see the resemblance!" Georgette pulled the boy closer and examined his hair and his face.

Simba hated coming to this shopping center. He always felt judged and out of place, like everyone wanted to eat him. The way they stared at him as if he were a prey animal. As an infant, he would cry slightly and hide in his aunt's hair and pretend that all the scary monsters were not real. Nowadays, he knew better but there was something about this dark shadowy place that he did not like.

"What kind of shampoo do you use?" The woman asked. She had a strong smelling flowery perfume, the kind that his grandmother wore. It reminded him of lavish garden parties at her house.

"Um, regular?"

"No, no, I mean what brand? Samson's? Drakkar?"

"Oh, um…." Simba began nervously. She had this mean teacher vibe. He held onto his aunt's hand but for some reason, she loosened up her grip. He didn't want to think it but maybe she forgot.

"We are short on time, I am afraid that Simba cannot be your little Guinea pig," Scar said in a low and condescending drawl.

"Oh, what a shame. I am sure you would fit right in at Red's Tea Party and Festival! Do you like macaroons?"

"Um, no? What are those?"

"It's a cookie, silly boy! You are just so cute!" Her long and pointy fingers pinched Simba's cheeks very hard.

"I am afraid cricket is not my thing, Georgette but do give everyone my regards."

"Not at all, I am sure I will catch you some other time," she blew them both a kiss.

Simba was grateful that she did not stop at any of the other stores that stood between them and the restaurant. On the way, they passed what could best be described as both an apothecary and herbal trade outpost. The owner stressed all natural remedies from everything from bad headaches to stomach problems but for a hefty price, he would offer you a potion that could solve your financial and legal woes. The windows boasted a store that resembled a traditional Chinese medicine place of trade. The man was thin and would tempt would be customers by offering them a first time discount (of which he would forget to implement and blame the weight of expensive rare plants for the spike in price). He would mention how he had 'friends on the other side' who would help them. He also did tarot card readings for an extra fee. He nodded at Scar as she passed him by. She once stopped by his store to buy a half pound bag of lavender. Simba was a baby and he would not stop crying. Her 'friend' did it as a favor and he told her to have the lavender prepared so that he would smell it and he would fall asleep. He offered her some of the more 'exotic' plants but she went for a more simple approach. Simba fell asleep like a bear in the winter when she prepared the concoction.

They passed by the bank manager, a tall and thin man who resembled a snake. He carried around a golden cane. He had a small chat with the dark skinned woman.

"Is this the little prince? How extraordinary!" The man gasped. He knelt down and examined Simba as if he were a puppy. The man wore a dark suit that was accented by a red tie and a hint of gold.

They passed Cruella's Fur Shoppe and Maleficent's before they reached their destinations.

Simba was craving simple fare while Scar's tastes settled on something on the gourmet side. They both finally agreed on an eatery that would satiate both their appetites. The restaurant catered to all kinds of palates, from calorie laden cheese covered meals for the kids to something more upscale for the adults.

Simba ordered a cheeseburger with extra fries and barbeque sauce on the side completed with cherry limeade. He asked for a slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake at the end. Scar ordered the garlic lamb dish which was served with rice pilaf and an order of steamed vegetables smothered in lemon juice.

"And how are your studies?" She asked before sipping her water. She did not really care. If she could find a nugget such as a weakness or an embarrassing truth that she could use later then this small talk would prove to be a rather profitable investment.

"Um, good I guess. I made it to first baseman in softball this week. We also started a cricket farm." Simba said as he began to play with the cherry in his drink. He preferred sports to his studies. He hoped that she would not ask him about that incident in chemistry class with Professor Merlin.

"Was that your idea?" Scar said as she began to stir some sugar into her tea.

Simba laughed.

"No, it wasn't. It's supposed to teach us responsibility. Dad bought the terrarium." It made him even more popular, he was proud to admit.

Of course.

It was then that Simba pulled out his hand held game device. His parents stressed that it was rude and unacceptable it was to bring devices like that to the dinner table. His aunt never said anything but he looked at her just in case. He took note of her gaze and immediately adjusted the volume.

Away from her, she didn't mind so long as it kept him occupied and away from her walk in closet or kitchen. When it was within hearing distance then it was a nuisance. She noted how interested and invested he was in the game. It was as if he strategized and analyzed his enemy's next move. With quick movements of his fingers, he eliminated his enemies and gained rewards. It would have been admirable had it been the real thing and not just pretend. It wasn't the same as executing the plans face to face with one's enemy. Everyone fantasized but what good was that desire when it was just a dream and not a goal realized? The youth of today think they can play an instrument by using a piece of plastic or that they deserve an award for performing a cover. It was not the same as actually realizing the goal, at actualizing their plans. If he were to look weak and incompetent, then perhaps his chances at inheriting the family company would be remote. Then again, Mufasa passing that over to someone else was as likely as a hornbill holding up a two ton rhinoceros in a musical medley.

Just then, a waiter showed up with a basket of bread and butter. Scar began to apply a loaf with a sliver of the salty spread.

"Hey, aunt Scar, guess what?" Simba said offhandedly, still focused on the game.

"You know I despise guessing games, Simba." she mused at him with her icy jungle green eyes.

"I'm gonna be King of Pride Rock!"

Scar held onto the knife and wiped it with the bread, looking tensely.

"I see," she said tersely.

"And I'm gonna rule it all!" He said with a smile.

"Well that's nice, dear but do you know what graduate inventory is?"

"No."

"Do you know what profit margin means?" She clasped her hands together, studying him.

"Um, nope."

"Then how will you be prepared to run a Kingdom if you cannot grasp the basics?"

"I dunno, dad will teach me. He said that you can stay as Vice President or if you want to go back to being head secretary."

This was the first time she had heard some mention of this. The brute had already had her position negotiated disgusted her. The nerve! That was like trading the throne and downgrading to a seat in the court and watching all of this while a monkey becomes King!

"Oh did he? What else did he say?" Scar made small indented scratches on the glass.

"I don't know. I forgot. Oh, wait! He was talking to Shere Khan. He said some stuff about you. Nice stuff." Simba replied without missing a beat. He was angling his game device in a most unusual manner.

Scar smiled. It was pleasant surprise to hear that her colleague and former flame vouched for her in front of that dolt.

"What were they talking about Simba?" She tapped the black straw from her iced tea, waiting and weighing his words. They may have been vague but they were treasures.

"I don't remember. Something about money. I don't pay attention because that is boring."

A complete and total monkey. Although annoying, perhaps his ignorance is not just a curse. Simba was not exactly studious but given enough time this form of sloth would come to benefit her. Perhaps there could be another flaw that she could exploit. His ignorance, just as much as his innocence was ripe for the plucking. If time allowed it, she could maneuver and execute her plans much….sooner than she originally anticipated.

"Of course it is, darling. You have so many distractions and for them to put this on you, it is a tad unfair," she said with a mock smile and puckered lips.

"Yeah. And he's always talking to Nala's mom. Something about 'betrothal'. They always look at us whenever they talk about that." Simba said with a slight gruff.

"It is part and parcel of tradition, Simba. It is company protocol. Though if you wish to cede these responsibilities, then that is perfectly understandable. Being company president isn't all cakes and tea Simba," Scar mused. Slowly, she planted the seeds of doubt in his little brain.

"Then I hear this talk about babies. Like they think we are stupid or something! Hey aunt Scar! Can I ask you something? How come you don't have kids?" His bright reddish brown eyes widened. He set down his game. His focus was on her.

Scar's eyes widened. It was such a personal and pointed question. It was common knowledge that no one dared to ask Scar her marital status much less if she had 'cubs' of her own but to have someone so small and so innocent ask her such a personal question was surprising and…..and very violating.

"Why do you wish to know?" Scar said calmly. It was supposed to be her little secret. No one else's. She wanted to bash him over the head and have her henchmen deal him with but the last thing she needed was more soil to her name.

"They made us watch this movie in science class. They showed us how babies are made." Simba said as a matter of factly.

"And what did you learn, Simba?" More cautious and curious than intrigued by his knowledge.

"I know that my dad and my mom had me. Nala's mom and her dad had her and her brother Mheetu. How come you didn't have kids?"

"Simba, life doesn't always turn out the way we wish for it." Scar said with a sigh.

"You don't have to wish for it. You just go out and do it!" Simba declared. Scar was surprised at his answers. He was treading too close to dangerous territory.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know, just do it. Find somebody to love and get married!" He said it like it was a simple math expression.

"Very well, who do you suppose would be a good match?" Scar said before placing her fork onto the piece of meat. She savored it the way a lion would sink its teeth into a freshly killed antelope.

"I think the Prince of Nottingham would be kinda cool and we're kind of like a royal family, aren't we?" Scar let out a small chuckle.

He was so naïve. John was such a flamer that he could dance circles around the Devil himself. Scar recalled a time when she and the girls were having a chat at the local country club. John's fascination with Maleficent's tapestries is what tipped them off. Like Scar, he was always overlooked by his handsome elder brother Richard. One time during a game of bridge, they all found out that he was also a very…..infantilized man to put it mildly.

"Simba, he cares more about the number of jewels on his crown than having a wife." Scar explained dryly.

"Okay then. How about….Prince Adam?" Simba offered.

"I beg your pardon?" Scar said incredulously.

"He lives in a castle in the mountains. He also has a lot of helpers. I heard he has this really cool animal that he hides in his private chambers." Simba looked mischievously off to his side, like he was wanting to explore and go off on another dangerous adventure.

"Simba, he has a very bad hair growth disorder and some very real anger problems. He sounds an awful like your father." Scar said lowly before taking another sip of her drink.

Simba let out a small laugh.

"You're so weird!"

"Though I am sure that he is a wonderful ballroom dancer." Scar said with a devilish smile.

"Okay, then fine. How about…..Shere Khan?"

Scar glanced up at him.

"What did you say?"

"Shere Khan." Simba reached for his phone. It was a text from his father asking him about his arrangement. "He's smart, he has a lot of cars and he his rich too, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea, Simba. I must admit, I am curious as to why you would suggest him." Scar was really interested in hearing what her nephew had to say.

"I dunno. I think he likes you. Once he and dad had a meeting and they were talking. I didn't catch everything but then I heard your name. He said something about how he liked playing patty cake with you. For some reason, dad got mad when he heard that."

Scar let out a small chuckle.

"I quiver with fear."

If only Mufasa knew about that one time when she and Khan engaged in an act of criminal congress on his desk.

"Nala likes to play that game with Tama and Kula. I don't understand why everyone is fascinated with that game."

"When you learn the tricks of the trade, the game can be a very powerful one indeed," a deep male voice spooked Simba from his query. He turned back. The shadow loomed over him but even still, Simba could make out the outline. He was tall and he had a prominent jaw but it was the deep scent of old spice and expensive cigars that gave him away.

"Uncle Khan!" Simba greeted him.

"Well, speak of the Devil" Scar smiled.

The mogul of Khan Industries picked up the boy and scooped him in his arms.

"I do hope that I am not interrupting this engagement but I could not help but notice a beautiful mirage from afar. I originally believed that it was due to lack of water until I caught within my periphery the sight of my favorite co-pilot."

He patted Simba on his head. During a class field trip, his class was invited to one of Khan Industries' plants which specialized in creating models for private consumption and there was a test site. He needed a volunteer. Because of his connections, Simba got first dibs in one of the latest jet models. He had never had so much fun. It was said that Mufasa was furious when he originally heard but when he saw the happiness in his boy's eyes and the fact that he was safe, he couldn't take that away.

"Not at all, we were just about to have lunch. Care to join us?" Scar said in a silky tone. If Simba had not been there, Shere Khan would have suggested that he have her for the main course.

"I am afraid that I am going to have to regretfully decline the invitation. I was making a personal visit to inspect the latest brand of watches at the Captain's Quarters."

The Captain's Quarters was a novelty shop for men that had the most beautiful Swiss watches customized and made to order. He also sold fine Patek Phillipe and Piaget models. Simba remembered the first time he met the man who ran the store. He noticed that he was missing a hand and in place of it, he had a hook. Simba was always scared that he would poke his eye out. Scar once caught Simba staring a little too hard at the part where there should have been a hand. She gave him a very stern glare. He once got nervous when the store owner wanted to shake his hand.

"Awww, can't you stay a little bit?" Simba looked up at him with those intense orange-red eyes. Innocence. Purity. Light.

His "uncle" Shere Khan was one of the few from his aunt's circle whom he liked. He was nice to her and he spoiled him rotten whenever he could. He would slip him a couple of twenties or a fifty as a token. He would also give him gift cards to any of the lavish high tech stores that sold the latest gadgets. Simba was taught to decline such offers but then his parents also instilled in him that it was rude to say no when a guest made a request. He was kind of a 'guest' and he did not want to make Shere Khan upset. Sometimes, and that was only if he got good grades for which he had to show proof, Shere Khan would take him to the toy store and let him pick out whatever he wanted. Simba knew that he could not take advantage and would settle for a small toy or a game rather than the latest and most popular thing unless his kindly 'uncle' would insist. He would explain to Mufasa the reason why Simba would come home with such a luxurious gift. The boy was spoiled but certainly not ungrateful. He had everything he wanted and he had some semblance of manners.

"Very well, if you insist, my dear boy." He pulled up a chair from an adjacent table. The three of them sat in front of the restaurant which was modeled as a French chateau. The outdoor canopy shielded them from the bright sun.

"Simba was just telling me about his studies," Scar said as if she were sharing a delicious piece of gossip.

"Did he now?" Khan countered. "Tell me, my boy, what is the difference between the Euclidean and Pythagoram theorems?" Shere Khan asked him casually.

"Well, uh…"

"What is condensation?"

"That has something to do with the weather, am I right?" Simba asked excitedly hoping that Shere Khan wold give him brownie points.

"Your college professors need you to be a lot sharper than that, lad." Shere Khan replied back.

"I don't know these answers but I know someone who does. My friend Nala. She is very smart and she is always helping me out." Simba countered back, as if he had pulled out a secret weapon.

"She does now?" Shere Khan said coyly as he applied something to his drink. He began to stir it.

"Yeah, she is always helping me out. She can be a bit of a show off though, sometimes." Although he enjoyed sports, wrestling was never his forte and he never lived down the fact that a girl was able to pin him more quickly than he did her.

"I see," Shere Khan said gruffly.

"She is Sarafina's daughter." Scar quickly explained.

"Ah, yes of course."

Nala's mom was an excellent cook. She ran a bistro and farmed a lot of her own animals. That's why a lot of her meals which included brisket, smoked ham and other exotic meats tasted fresh. She was invited to Simba's christening and helped to serve the fare. Other than that, he did not know much about Nala's personal life other than the fact that Simba thought that she made the best barbecue. Nala was already learning.

"Sarafina is self-made, isn't she?" Shere Khan asked.

"Very much so. She studied at a good culinary school after she left her husband while pregnant. She is also well trained in various fighting arts."

Simba knew that his mom was very good friends with Nala's mom. They were very close, like best friends. She baked him a cake for his birthday last year. It was his favorite flavor too.

"How admirable," Shere Khan said dryly.

"She's very nice," Simba said as he noshed between two fries.

"I don't doubt her talents, dear boy."

"She isn't my only friend. Sometimes I hang out with Tolouse and Berlioz."

They were two thirds of the Bonfamille triplets. Upper class. Musical prodigies and spoke four different languages. Khan nodded in approval.

"Then there's this boy, Oliver. He's from New York and he has red hair like me. He lives in a nice house but then he told me that he used to live on the streets."

Scar recognized the boy. Georgette told her that he was an orphan and that when he was found he was dirty and scraggly. She would wince in disgust when she saw that he would touch her gold plates and immaculate floors. Luckily his stay was only temporary.

Sarafina was a brilliant entrepreneur but there was something about her lower class ranking and how Mufasa seemed to gloss over it that bothered Scar. Though it was Scar who was second in command, it was Sarafina who was lavished and praised for her hard work and charity. Her blueberry pies were the stuff of legend and even Hilda was said to be jealous of her concoctions. Sarafina had risen to from a lower rank. Not only that but she got respect which was something that Scar had been yearning for so long. To see someone who had risen from her position in society to being the toast at Mufasa and Sarabi's parties no longer bothered her but they were a reminder that she had moved from her stationary lot in life to something garnering esteem while she was in a higher position and never got the same accolade. She had enrolled Nala in etiquette classes while she had to take care of her business. How quaint. That trade was inherited, never learned. It was like trying to be Rembradt or Van Gogh without having the proper training. Some things could not be acquired. They had to be inherited.

To the company, Sarafina was a fine example of being self-made.

"Simba, how would you describe your upbringing?" Shere Khan said with a measured tone.

"Um, good I guess. Dad says that I shouldn't brag and that I should be grateful for what I have." Simba chewed on his burger.

"You have the bare necessities I take it. Shelter, meals, a warm bed." Khan clasped his fingers together, studying the boy's responses.

"Um, yeah."

"'Yes, sir' is the proper response, Simba." Scar hissed.

"I mean, yes sir."

"You are enrolled in a private school, you have everything you want at your disposal and you indulge in the finest eateries. Do you know what that makes you, Simba?"

Simba shook his head. He stopped paying attention to his meal and focused on the man sitting before him. He was a giant. He had square hands and his nails were long but not boney. Still, they reminded him of claws. His hair was a mix between reddish orange with just a touch of white.

"It makes you a 'have'. Do you know what a 'have' is, dear boy?"

"Um, no sir." Simba said nervously. It was like taking one of those annoying oral tests at school. You had to have the right answer on the spot or else everyone would laugh at you.

"You come from a privileged background and you lack of nothing. You are provided and cared for. A 'have' knows which side the spoon and fork go on the plate, a 'have' knows the difference between a tea gown and a ball dress."

The words were foreign to Simba. He knew the basics such as 'thank you' and when to say 'please' but this was something else. He would know what to do if his mother corrected him but what Shere Khan was proposing was something like homework.

"Simba, tell Shere Khan about the school play."

Simba and his classmates were assigned to do a Midsummer Night's dream. There was a competition that would last all week. Four other classrooms were assigned different plays and the winning class would win a trip to the museum. Everyone had a significant part and the teacher stressed that they all had to pronounce and annunciate the words correctly and in Middle English.

Skippy flubbed some of his lines.

Penny and Jenny were assigned as the First and Second Fairies respectively but it was Penny who would struggle with her parts. Jenny saved the play with her delivery.

The Bonfamille triplets were impeccable, though behind the curtain they were competitive.

"And because of these grave mistakes, it cost your classmates the vacation."

"Yeah," Simba looked down. He asked his dad for help but he stressed that he could not fix all his problems and that sometimes he had to learn for himself how to deal with setbacks.

"Do you believe it fair that you were punished because of someone else's mistakes?"

"No," Simba said in a low tone.

"Do you feel that you should be accountable if someone in your entourage costs you the Prize Trophy, knowing full well that you have trained for months?"

"Well, kind of because in a team you work together but when we lose, yeah it does suck."

"Simba," Scar corrected him. She hated such informal language.

"Sorry, I mean. No, I don't like it." Truth be told, Simba was a selfish little bastard. He was never violent or as open about it but if an opportunity came along where he felt that he had been robbed of something, he would sulk than get nasty. Nala besting him in sports was one but that wasn't it. Even still, it was more of a sore spot that would go away than something that would eat him alive.

Rafiki told him how it was important to let any bad feelings go because it was like letting a cancer grow in the body. Still, he knew there was a grain of truth to Shere Khan's words.

"You had a game, according to your dear aunt." Khan pressed on.

Simba nodded.

It was a disaster.

"Who were your teammates?" The man said in a deep gruff voice.

Simba felt like he was being judged his parents. Essentially they were an extra set of parents but they weren't as strict in their discipline as his real mom and dad. Still, he felt awful disappointing them.

"The kids from the Lost Boys Orphanage." Simba said in an embarrassed tone.

It was so hard to get them to pay attention to the rules. The game was supposed to be fun but it did cost Simba some dignity points.

"I seem to have soured the mood. I do apologize." He said dryly.

"Not at all. Some people need to be pulled from their high place in the sky and come back down to Earth. It's a father son thing." Scar sneered devilishly.

"Nonetheless, I have intruded on your meal. Do take this as a token of an expression of my deepest apologies." Shere Khan presented Simba with a card. His eyes widened. It couldn't be? Was this really….?

The card was for "Pleasure Island".

"Ya mean it?" His eyes were as wide as saucers.

It was an arcade just for children. It had everything a small boy could ask for. It was better than a carnival in that it wasn't dirty and the prizes were usually something fancy like a latest game console or a two hundred dollar voucher for a toy store of their choice. It also had games, candy, soda, prizes etc. Almost everyone wanted a tablet. There was all you can eat pizza, a computer lounge, a paintball court, a motorbike trail, a pony ride. Clowns were not allowed but fire eaters, contortionists and other 'freaks' were welcome.

"Only the best for my favorite nephew." Khan patted Simba on his head, messing his little mane.

"But, but dad says that this too luxurious."

"He's right, I am afraid. You cannot be spoiling the child too much, Khan." Scar cooed.

"Forgive me for intruding on such sensitive familial matters but you cannot trust your father in everything." Shere Khan smiled.

"Uh, I uh," Simba stuttered. He was not used to hearing his dad's name be spoken to like that.

"But he is an excellent host and a generous donor. You should be proud, Simba."

"Gee, thanks!" He hugged him.

"It would be a shame to not reward my favorite Peter Quince."

"Oh, this is so cool! Can't we go aunt Scar?"

"Why don't you ask Zazu to take you one of these days? First, you need to do something important."

Simba sighed. "What?"

"A bath," she said as she cleaned up his face and his hair. She got a napkin and ran her tongue on it before applying it to his face.

"Awww, you're messing up my mane!" Simba laughed.

They had shared between them a full meal consisting of appetizers, drinks and the main course. When Simba finally finished his chocolate cake, they walked along the terrace.

The day began very awkwardly but then it blossomed into something more.

He held both his aunt and uncle's hands when they both lifted him from a small puddle of water that formed from a crack.

As a toddler and still as a small boy, he enjoyed going on the swing set by the toy store. Shere Khan would push him while Scar sat by to watch or caught up quickly on work using her mobile device.

They ended the day by sharing an ice cream. Simba had a bubblegum flavored treat with fudge and gummy bears. Shere Khan went for basic chocolate with pistachios. Scar had a raspberry sorbet.

Later that night, when his aunt tucked him in for sleep, he reflected. He may not have been perfect, he may not have been as smart as Nala or as 'well bred' as the triplets but he was happy. He had his own private kingdom to look forward to running, parents that loved him, an uncle that spoiled him and an aunt that cared for him. He had a friend whom he could share his deepest secrets with. He had friends from all over and no one judged one another based on their economic station, just as his father stressed.

He saw himself as the luckiest boy in the world.

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Author's note:

I wanted to do something 'lighter' in tone and I hope you enjoyed this fic.

For those of you who were waiting, I am sorry but real life got in my way. I originally planned to write this around April or May but due to health problems, I had to put this on hold. I want to give special thanks to Robin Mask, Freakuness and Android Raptor for being such awesome readers. This is for you. I would also like to show my appreciation to WriterPON3. I know you were wondering what happened to the updates. Sorry I took long.

Some of these places are based on real life. I was inspired by a recent trip to the LA Grove after a lunch with friends. The Earthly Delights Gardens is a play on the Hieronymus Bosch artwork 'The Garden of the Earthly Delights'. I had fun injecting other characters in here as obliquely as I could and I hope you enjoyed this piece. Once again, I am sorry for the tardiness. RL can be a pain.


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